


Time

by surveycorpsjean



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Growing Up Together, M/M, Slow Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-08-29
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7881373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surveycorpsjean/pseuds/surveycorpsjean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they're twenty-three, their story only begins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Time

When they’re six, they meet.

New neighbors, new faces. He holds his mother’s hand and peers around her thigh at the family on their new doorstep.

“ _This is the Iwaizumi family!”_ His mother exclaims, in that tone adults use to talk to children. “ _They’ve brought brownies!”_

And Oikawa sees him, a shorter kid, with spikey hair and fearless eyes, clutching onto a plate like it’s all he has.

So he takes one, says  _thank you –_ introduces himself as  _Toooroo~,_ and asks Iwaizumi if he likes racecars, in which, Iwaizumi nods furiously.

He sleeps over the night after that, and the night after that, and the night after that-

 

When they’re eight, Iwaizumi teaches him how to ride a bike. Oikawa is embarrassed, because Iwaizumi learned when he was  _seven –_ but he shoves Oikawa on the bike, and pushes him down the cul-de-sac.

 _“Hajime! Hajime!”_ He shrieks, as the bike swerves.

“Pedal!” Iwaizumi calls, running as fast as he can behind him, “Pedal!”

So he does – and for a moment, he flies. Oikawa laughs, clutching the handlebars, shouting against the wind- but the bike does, however, catch on a pothole and skid.

Iwaizumi  _carries_ Oikawa to his mother, apologizing profusely for the scraped elbow, and the bloody knee.

 

When they’re eleven, they start middle school.

Iwaizumi makes a friend on the first day, and Oikawa is overcome with  _so_ much jealousy, the he decides to go out and make friends on his own.

But Oikawa is still awkward. His bangs are an ugly straight line, because his mom  _insists_ on the same haircut- and he hasn’t grown into his face yet. Of course he hasn’t. He’s eleven.

But Iwaizumi is cute and strong and really, really good in P.E., and Oikawa feels left behind.

He thinks, maybe, that might be it. He’ll be left here, in Iwaizumi’s shadow- but Iwaizumi slaps him on the back, says  _do you wanna’ come practice some volleyball?_ And everything changes.  

 

When they’re thirteen, they're dumb and eager to please. Iwaizumi tries a sliding receive, and breaks his arm.

Oikawa cries more than he does, actually, sobbing and sniveling and  _insisting_ he go with him to the hospital.

_It was my serve! It was my serve! I did it, I did it-_

But Iwaizumi looks him in the eye, growls,  _Idiot, be here when I get back. I won’t let anyone else sign my cast first._

And he doesn’t.

 

When they’re fifteen, Oikawa chews on his lip until it bleeds. His hands, callused, from volleyball, run nervously over this shins, where they’re pulled close to his body on Iwaizumi’s bed.

The blood rushes past his ears, his chest squeezing, like a boa constrictor.

“I’m Bi.” Oikawa exhales, barely audible over the movie.

Iwaizumi pauses. Mutes the T.V. Turns his way and looks him in the eye.

His voice is deep, and serious, “Am I the first one you’ve told?”

“Y-yeah?”

“Good.” Iwaizumi says, and turns the T.V. back on, “Let me know if anyone gives you shit.”

And that’s that.

 

When they’re seventeen, they lose to Karasuno.

For the first time, Oikawa sees his best friend cry. It hurts – everything,  _everything._ His chest, his heart. But he can’t cry; he  _has_ to be strong for Iwaizumi.

Slaps him on the back, takes him home.

When they’re seventeen, Oikawa bangs some chick from school. Just another, nothing special. But he bangs her, and thinks of Iwaizumi, and realizes he’s in love.

In love with his teammate. His partner. His best friend. 

When they’re seventeen, they apply for college. When they’re eighteen, they graduate.

When they’re eighteen, they go their separate ways.

When they’re eighteen, Oikawa doesn’t tell Iwaizumi he loves him. He doesn’t cry, until he’s home. Until his entire body  _burns_ with what could’ve been. With what he could never have.

 

When they’re twenty, Oikawa gets shitfaced at a party. Just  _trashed._ Drinks to forget that he was ever in love. Sleeps with some guy because he can. Says Iwaizumi’s name during sex. Ruins  _that_ quick hookup real, real fast.

His fingers trace around the edges of his phone. He’s curled up in bed, tired, sore. School sucks. College volleyball is rough.

He wants to call him. Hear his voice – but Oikawa  _saw_ his snapchat –  _saw_ the cute girl he was with.

Iwaizumi is leaving him behind.

 

 

When they’re twenty-one, they graduate.

Oikawa gets picked up by a professional league not far from where he grew up – he gets a call from Iwaizumi, saying the same thing.

_I need a roommate._

Oikawa is dumb enough to say yes.

 

When they’re twenty-two, Oikawa is still young. Still a little touchy.

You’d think after so long…the emotions would rot. Grind to dust.

But they festered like a wound. Bubbled. Boiled. And it only takes a bottle of whiskey for Oikawa to shout over their couch, screeching, nails ripping the fabric,

_I loved you! I loved you, you idiot. With everything I had! I loved you and you left me!_

It all comes free, unraveling, like a dropped bobbin.

They’re almost twenty-three. They’ve survived  _six months_ under the same roof – Oikawa has bit his tongue, for six months, only to ruin it over one bottle.

But Iwaizumi vaults the couch. Grips him by the collar. Throws the bottle across the room and hears it smash against the wall.

“What do you feel now?” Iwaizumi asks, low and scary – and they’re so close, so, so close, that Oikawa can count the flicks of brown in his eyes.  _God,_ Iwaizumi has grown, blossomed, turned into something beautiful.

But, he was always beautiful, wasn’t he?

“Nothing.” Oikawa spits back. “I feel  _nothing.”_

“You’ve always been such a good goddamn liar," Iwaizumi hisses.

“You’re right,” Oikawa’s voice raises, cracks, probably seeps into the apartment above them, “Goddammit,  _I still fucking love you-“_

And Iwaizumi kisses him. Lifts him against the wall, and kisses him.

It’s bruising. It  _hurts._

But it always hurts, before it heals. You gotta’ rip out the bullet, before you sew the wound shut. Swab it with rubbing alcohol, slap on a band aid.

But if you check back in a week, the skin scabs. In two weeks, it scars. In three, it’s but a memory.

And that’s how love works.

 

When they’re twenty-three, they date.

It’s funny, how when you live life, you think  _yes, this is all there is._ This is  _my_ story. I live in only  _this_ moment.

But when they’re twenty-three, their story only begins.

 

* * *

 

 

It’s been a long road getting here. Alotta’ tears. Alotta' hurt.

But, it’s been worth it, Oikawa thinks.  _Definitely worth it,_ for this moment here.

 _“Idiot._ ” Iwaizumi grumbles against the back of his neck, “Stop squirming.”

“I can’t help it,” Oikawa grins, and twists in his arms, “I’m a morning person.”

“I know. It’s the sole vexation of my existence.”

Oikawa laughs – it rings loud, against the silence of their shared bedroom, and the soft light that seeps beneath the blinds. It’s a modest place, made to feel like home through small knickknacks and volleyball trophies. The sheets smell like fresh cotton, and shift beneath their warm bodies.

“Ah, but where would you be without me?”

“Asleep, probably.”

Oikawa scrunches up his face in a pout – but Iwaizumi opens his eyes and  _fuck_ they’re so warm, so full of adoration, that Oikawa forgets to be mad.

A strong hand rises between them, and a thumb presses between his eyebrows, smoothing out the lines there, “You’ll give yourself wrinkles,” Iwaizumi mumbles.

“Please. My skin is flawless.”

“For now.”

There’s a sleepy kiss pressed into the curve of his neck, and Oikawa squirms closer, feeling himself smile. Those arms are back, now pressed around his waist, pulling them flushed together. He’s not sure where Iwaizumi starts and he ends, but Oikawa prefers it that way. He worms a thigh between Iwaizumi’s, and hears the bed creak with their weight.

Oikawa brings a hand up to thread it through Iwaizumi’s bedhead. His hair is surprisingly soft, but it’s always  _been_ soft.

“So are we getting up soon?”

“No.” Iwaizumi rolls onto his back, and pulls Oikawa on top, “Go back to sleep.”

Oikawa sits up, straddles his hips and laughs, “Seriously?” He peeps around to look at the clock, “It’s almost noon!”

“It’s our day off.”

“ _Exactly._ ” Oikawa stresses, “We could be making breakfast. Or grocery shopping. Or  _fucking._ Hajime, think of the possibilities.”

Iwaizumi seems to really,  _really_ think about that one. He swirls his tongue around in his mouth – absent mindedly runs his hands up and down Oikawa’s spread thighs.

“Hmm.”

“I’ll cook?”

“Alright,” Iwaizumi decides.

“ _Sweet!_ ” Oikawa rolls off of him, and skitters off the floor, “I’m stealing your clothes.”

“ _Don’t,"_  Iwaizumi sits up, squinting as the light falls across his face. “You’ll make me hard.”

“ _Toolatealreadydoingit!_ ” Oikawa sweeps up one of Iwaizumi’s shirts, and laughs halfway down the hallway, the tips of his blue boxer briefs peaking beneath the old eighties t-shirt.

Iwaizumi kicks off the covers, and chases him to the fridge.

 

* * *

 

Oikawa has come to appreciate the small things, when it comes to living with Iwaizumi.

Remember, he  _did_ live in a dorm throughout college. He’s had his share of bad roommates, alright.

Iwaizumi is surprisingly neat. He likes to organize the seasonings in the cabinet, and his biggest pet peeve is towels on the floor.

But, there’s something so distinctly  _Iwaizumi_ that makes the place home. It just, smells like  _him._ Old pine and something musky. Oikawa has learned to appreciate the pair of Vans parked at the front mat every day, and the orange toothbrush that rests next to his.

It’s in the small things. The small things, really.

When they grocery shop, Iwaizumi always holds his hand. It took a while to get here – to the smallest bits of public affection, but they’ve made it, and they’re here, and it’s  _real._

Oikawa knows Iwaizumi inside and out. He thought, in the four years they were apart, that everything might’ve changed, but-

Iwaizumi is just as he always was. Reliable. Strong. Protective. Beautiful.

He carries the groceries in. Helps him unload. Collapses on the coach because  _oh, grocery shopping is sooo exhausting._ He growls when Oikawa mocks him. Laughs when Oikawa trips over his own long leg.

“How can you be so graceful on the court, but so clumsy in your own home?” Iwaizumi laughs, loud and unforgiving.

“It’s just a tall person problem.” Oikawa mocks from the floor, “ _You wouldn’t know._ ”

There’s this loud, overdramatic gasp from the couch, and Oikawa has maybe three seconds to consider running.

Ah, but he’s not fast enough. Iwaizumi vaults the couch, tackling him onto his back, lightly muffling Oikawa’s laughter with a pillow.

“One inch!” Iwaizumi fights, “One fucking inch!”

“Get off of me!” Oikawa giggles, “You have to be  _at least_ six feet tall to ride.”

Iwaizumi lets out this unrefined  _gahh!_ noise, and chucks the pillow, shoving his hands underneath Oikawa’s armpits and attacking where he’s most vulnerable.

Oikawa becomes a giggly, puddly mess – but he keeps his eyes open. Open, to watch Iwaizumi laugh.

All of those who see Iwaizumi in practice, all of those who watch him on T.V., all of those who talked to him in school. They never saw this –  _this_ Iwaizumi, who laughs so hard he snorts. Whose eyes tear up when Oikawa chokes on his own spit. Who smiles so, so wide, that dimples pop on his cheeks.

This Iwaizumi is Oikawa’s, and Oikawa’s alone.

It always has been, since they were six.

 

* * *

 

They’re disgustingly domestic.

Oikawa realizes this, as they argue over which set of pots to buy for their kitchen. The old ones have rotted out, the bottoms becoming so over worn, that they do nothing but scratch the stove.

“They’re too expensive.” Oikawa folds his arms, “It’s not worth it.”

“ _No,_ ” Iwaizumi stresses, “It  _is_ worth it, because if you buy the stainless steel ones  _now,_ you won’t end up right here in another three years.”

“We’re trying to save up for a house!”

“A house isn’t worth it if we don’t have  _pans_ to  _cook in._ ”

Oikawa opens his mouth – looks around the small cooking store, and sighs. He presses his face in his hands. Exhales, deep and pathetic.

 _“God,_ Hajime. We’re  _boring._ We’ve grown up, and we’re boring.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes soften. His shoulders leek a little tension, his body relaxing in his soft coat and dark jeans.

“Hey…hey…” he secretly snakes an arm around Oikawa’s waist, and brings him close. He speaks softly, “I take offense to that.”

“We’re arguing over  _pans_ Iwaizumi. We used to steal beer from gas stations and sneak into junkyards.”

“Both of which were incredibly stupid,” Iwaizumi adds. His hand smooths up, and down Oikawa’s hip. It’s soothing and warm, and something only Iwaizumi can do.

“How did we turn into two old men?”

“We started dating,” Iwaizumi deadpans, and Oikawa laughs.  Iwaizumi pulls up his hood, tucking Oikawa’s face away from any onlookers. He leans in close, eyes shining, “That’s not a bad thing, you know.”

“I know…” Oikawa leans in to kiss him, shaded in the safety of his hood.  “Let’s go do something stupid.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, “What did you have in mind?”

 

* * *

 

Well, this certainly  _is_ something stupid.

They sit on the hood of their car; this entire cliffside is completely abandoned. It was previously known as  _The_ makeout spot in high school, but it’s obviously a tradition that died with their graduation.

“I wanted to bring you up here, you know.” Iwaizumi says, and passes the moonshine to Oikawa.

“In high school?” Oikawa sputters.

“No.” Iwaizumi leans up against him, warm, to contrast the cold air. “But in college…you know I… was slowly figuring out who I was and what I wanted.” His arm worms around Oikawa’s waist, and Oikawa leans into it- “I had a dream that I brought you here.”

Oikawa turns to look him in the eye – wiggles his eyebrows, and shakes his butt like a cat, “Oh ho? Still havin’ saucy dreams about me at nineteen, huh?”

 _“No!”_ Iwaizumi recoils, “You  _pervert._ I just had a dream that we sat and talked. God, you’re so unromantic.”

 _“I’m_ unromantic?” Oikawa jokes, “Me?  _Me?!_ ”

“One time, when I brought you flowers, you said ‘ _these are nice but did you bring condoms?’”_

“I did say that.”

“And when I wanted to take you out somewhere nice, you said  _Hajime that’s gay._ ”

“I…also said that.”

“And  _then-_ “

“Alright, alright, alright.” Oikawa laughs, tipping his head and bonking it against Iwaizumi’s, “I get it. I’m beautiful  _and_ funny, and you just can’t handle it. It’s fine.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes – trails his hand around Oikawa’s hip and exhales, “Right.”

It’s getting a little colder. This is dumb, really. They have practice tomorrow, but here, up on the cliffside, you can see  _everything._

Oikawa smirks, “I can be romantic. Don’t you remember Valentine’s day?”

He  _feels_ Iwaizumi flush next to him, and Oikawa considers this a battle won.

“…Fine.”

Oikawa squirms, “How stupid would it be to go in the back of your car and reenact it?”

“That…sounds like the best idea you’ve had all night.”

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty- five when Iwaizumi kicks open the front door, holding the bloody, limp silhouette of a dog. Oikawa’s gut drops to his knees, and stays there.

He can’t say no. He can’t say no when Iwaizumi drives them to the vet hospital. Can’t say no when he gets the bill. Can’t say no when they suddenly have a dog.

It’s an ugly lookin’ thing. She’s medium sized – looks like the mix between a terrier and something else. She’s got one eye, in which, they were prompted to name her  _Pirate._

Oikawa buys her an eyepatch, and she wears it proudly.

She’s old, the vet says, but Iwaizumi couldn’t care less.

Pirate becomes a part of the family – even if they have to hide her from the landlord.

 

* * *

 

The dialogue of some old American film plays on the T.V. Iwaizumi listens with subtitles – Oikawa knows he does his best not to read them.

Ah, but Oikawa chooses to read on his phone; Iwaizumi’s arms are a consistent source of warmth, as is his chest. Oikawa has a leg hiked up – Iwaizumi’s hand running down to his bad knee, and up the muscle of his thigh, thumbs digging in where it feels good.

There’s a little  _boof!_ from the living room. Oikawa sets down his phone.

“Is that Pirate?”

“She’s sleeping,” Iwaizumi says.

“Are you  _sure?_ ”

“Yeah. That’s her sleep bark.”

Oikawa snorts, and lies his head back down on Iwaizumi’s chest. He chucks his phone somewhere on the bed, and squirms closer, “That’s cute.”

Iwaizumi smirks, draws a hand up to Oikawa’s hip, and back down, “I told you, she’d grow on you.”

“Yeah. But only because she peed in your shoes, and it was fucking hilarious.”

Iwaizumi lets out a huffy noise, and Oikawa breaks out giggling – he laughs when Iwaizumi pinches his side.

That’s the fun thing about dating your best friend, Oikawa thinks. There’s no walls, no secrets. Just light teasing, against late night television and cold toes.

“She likes me better than you.” Iwaizumi argues.

Oikawa laughs – squirms around to look him in the eye, “Yeah? Well, I don’t blame her.   _I_ like you better than I like me.”

Iwaizumi’s fake little mask crumbles, and the firm line of his mouth softens.

Fuck, Oikawa loves him. Loves all his tan lines, and the stubble that grows after a few days. Loves all of it.

A hand, strong, callused, comes between them. There’s this still moment where only the television plays – where they just stare – where Iwaizumi’s hand comes to rest against his neck, and cradle the back of his head.

Oikawa closes his eyes and leans into the touch without hesitation.

Iwaizumi is the one that kisses him first, but Oikawa would like to think it was something mutual- that hand on his neck prods him forwards, and Oikawa smiles against his mouth. Their teeth click, and Oikawa snorts, watching Iwaizumi recoil.

“Kiss me right, dammit,” Iwaizumi barks – and so Oikawa does. 

It’s kinda’ slow and lazy. They don’t have anything to rush for. Work tomorrow, maybe, but that’s nothing but an afterthought.

Their kisses are lackadaisical, and without purpose. It just feels good – fills Oikawa’s mind with something other than taxes and rent and volleyball, volleyball-

Iwaizumi breathes out of his nose, and Oikawa feels his chest swell with air. It’s a nice chest, broad, rounded. Strong, it is. Oikawa runs his fingers down it, shifting his weight more onto his knees, more to hover above him.

Iwaizumi does this thing, with his tongue, where he flicks it between his lips and charms his mouth open- and Oikawa feels heat rush down his spine. The thinking part of his brain flicks off – and the instinct part turns on.

Opened mouthed kisses are much more fun. Wetter, certainly, but they’re warmer too. Firm, as lower lips slide together. Less structured, more free. Free, to make it up as they go. To choose when to suck on tongues and smack lips with a gasp.

Oikawa has seen this person fall. Seen him yell. Seen him throw up into a trashbin after too much alcohol. He’s felt this person cry against his shoulder. Felt him shake, before a tournament.

They’ve played racecar driver. They’ve ridden their bikes down hills. They’ve punched bullies, stolen clothes, broken windows, won _trophies-_

But this is what Oikawa is most proud of. These memories, where Iwaizumi’s free hand slides from his hip, to his knee – where he kisses Oikawa like he’s something precious. Something to lose.

And that’s why Oikawa burns and boils, melts against him and lets Iwaizumi take, and  _take-_

Oikawa kisses him harder, tells him what he wants, because oh, does he  _want._

Iwaizumi vibrates a choked off moan against his lips, and Oikawa feels himself shiver. That hand is smoothing down his spine, tracing each bump, circling around muscle.

“Hah,” Oikawa pants, popping back, “Hajime.”

“Hm?”

“Lub’ you.” Oikawa slurs, through all the spit he’s sure isn’t his own. He trails a hand around Iwaizumi’s bicep. God, he loves these guns.

“Really now?” Iwaizumi smiles. His voice is really soft – Iwaizumi’s voice is wonderful that way. It yells loud on the court. Gravels in the morning. Purrs at night.

Oikawa draws out a long, “Mmmhmmm,” and hooks a leg over Iwaizumi’s hip, straddling his lap in an instant.

Iwaizumi looks at him – plays with the hem of his shirt and  _looks_ at him.

“You’re beautiful," He decides.

Oikawa feels his face turn hot. It’s embarrassing – that Iwaizumi can still affect him like this, almost twenty years later.

He tries to laugh, stutter out a  _o-of course, have you seen me? -_ but Iwaizumi isn’t having any of it.

He dips forwards, finds a home in Oikawa’s neck, breathes in and holds him hard. Oikawa swallows – shifts a little in his lap, his blood running warm.

“I’m sorry.” Iwaizumi breathes, and kisses him right where he’s sensitive.

“F-For what?”

“That I was such a pighead. About this. Us.”

“Stop.” Oikawa’s voice dips low, “We said no regrets.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” Iwaizumi kisses his throat again, then lower, then higher – wherever he can, really. His hands are firm on Oikawa's hips, but they’re ever-moving, smoothing over his navel, his ass-

Oikawa folds into him; he finds purchase in his hair, and pulls hard because he knows Iwaizumi likes it.

Iwaizumi does that thing, where he nips into the skin of Oikawa’s neck and pulls, watching the skin pull tight, and snap back like elastic. It makes Oikawa harder than hell – makes his head loll and his hips roll.

There’s one bite, two, rough, but not enough to bruise.

The mouth moves up to his ear; Oikawa’s hands follow the movement, still in his hair. The breath against the shell of his ear is warm and lazy, “Love you too.”

And Oikawa groans, the crotch of his jeans grinding down against Iwaizumi’s, mouth gargling, “ _Ohhh god, oh god._ ”

Iwaizumi has the gall to laugh, pulling his head back to rest it on his shoulder.

“Don’t laugh at me.” Oikawa breathes, smiling anyways. “Fuck.”

Iwaizumi’s voice rumbles something – Oikawa doesn’t catch it, only focusing on the palm that slides down between his legs. He traces the crotch seam, and Oikawa sighs, rocking against him.

“You’re hard.”

“And you’re surprised?” Oikawa smirks. He draws his hand down to smooth over Iwaizumi’s dick, where its swollen in his jeans. He squeezes, and Iwaizumi grunts.

“No.” Iwaizumi graciously pops open the button, “Just happy.”

Oikawa recoils, but feels himself smile.

Ah, how he forgets, when he’s caught up in it all. Forgets, that he  _knows_ Iwaizumi. That he has all the insecurities Oikawa has. That he doubts and he feels. He’s human too.

Iwaizumi yanks his jeans down to his mid hip, dipping his hand beneath his boxers and stroking Oikawa to full mast. Oikawa bites his tongue and rolls his hips into his hand, sliding higher up on his knees.

They kiss again, but this time it’s faster. Quick, and practiced and with rhythm to match Iwaizumi’s dry strokes. There’s tongue and spit and Oikawa breaks, breathes, kisses him hard and rolls against him, nails digging into his shoulders.

His body warms, and Iwaizumi sparks alive beneath him, consuming him, drinking his tongue and using his free hand to press them close.

Oikawa moans, loud and shameless against his lips, and does it again because Iwaizumi  _throbs._ It’s hot, it’s so, so hot. They’ve done this so many times, but it’s still so  _hot-_

“Iwa,” he prods, “Hajime, Hajime-“

His hand slows, “Tooru.”

“Will you fuck me?” Oikawa squirms.

Iwaizumi’s breath catches, but he mumbles, “I dunno’. We have practice tomorrow.”

“ _Hajime,”_ He frowns, “I can take it.”

“Can you?” He mumbles – his hand twists, and Oikawa keens, “It’d be funny. To fuck you hard right now, and watch you limp around tomorrow.”

Oikawa huffs, defensive, “Bite my ass, I’ve taken your dick harder than anyone else.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow. Oikawa stares, still burning hot – until his mind replays what he said, and he stutters-

 _“Er-_ w-wait, hold up-“

But Iwaizumi uses his wicked strength to roll – there’s a hand at his back, another at his thighs, and Oikawa’s filter crumbles.

 

* * *

 

He's not sure where his pants went, but those suckers are long gone. Oikawa is only left in a shirt- there’s a pillow propped under his hips, which was rather kind of Iwaizumi.

Speaking of, Oikawa is losing his goddamn mind because of him. There’s uh, two thumbs up his ass, and a tongue shoved so far up there, Oikawa is sure he can feel it in his gut.

Iwaizumi is real,  _real_ good at this. It was a blessed day, the first time he mumbled  _lemmie eat you out._ Oikawa cried, for like, a day, okay. It was  _great._

Except, it’s bittersweet. Oikawa seems to lose all sense of self, of pride. He usually holds himself rather high in bed; he isn’t a  _quick fuck,_ he’s a  _fantastic_ fuck, thanks.

But Iwaizumi squirms his tongue around and digs his fingers into his thighs and Oikawa begs like he’s on death row.

_Oh shit, oh fuck oh god-_

Iwaizumi’s thumbs dig harder, his tongue tracing the rim, dipping back, slipping everywhere that burns, making Oikawa’s eyes roll back into his head.

His arousal is like a brick sitting in his stomach, hard and heavy and  _there._ His shirt is hiked up his back – Iwaizumi can probably see the beads of sweat rolling down.

Oikawa can’t do much but lay there and get utterly fucked. His tongue grazes  _just_ short of his prostate, and Oikawa lets out a noise not too dissimilar to a dying cow.

Iwaizumi actually sits back and laughs, soothingly rubbing his fingers around his entrance, “You doin’ alright there?”

“ _No!”_ Oikawa barks, “Fucking hell, get in me.”

“What are you rushing for?” Iwaizumi asks, and has the gall to drill his fingers  _so_ far up his ass, that Oikawa drools into the pillow.

“ _Ahhhn- no! H-Hajime, I’m g-gonna-“_

The fingers pull back, and Oikawa lets out a gush of air, his dick bobbing a few times between his legs.

“Wow,” Oikawa can  _hear_ the smirk in his voice, “I didn’t know it’d been that long.”

“Shut the hell your mouth.” Oikawa barks, “Or I’ll come over there and suck your brain out ‘yer dick.”

Iwaizumi shuts up fast. It’s a real threat, you know.

Hands smooth up the sensitive skin on his thighs, slow, mapping out moles and beauty marks.

Iwaizumi's lips press against the swell of his right asscheek. He kisses once, twice, bites, and lets Oikawa breathe. 

Iwaizumi trails his hand between his legs, slaps Oikawa's ass once and says, “Roll over.”

So Oikawa does, however, more than Iwaizumi anticipated. He grins, using the strength in his legs to straddle Iwaizumi’s naked hips. He looks like he might have a complaint – but Oikawa just slicks the condom on and sinks down on his cock like it’s something mundane.

Nothing feels better than Iwaizumi thrusting up halfway, hands bruising his hips, head tipping back and giving the most guttural groan. Oikawa glows with smugness – wiggles around on his dick a little and decides yes, yes good, this is  _fantastic._

He doesn’t even bother with his own erection; instead he slides up on his knees and  _rides._

His ass is already wet as hell, thanks, but the lubed condom helps the slide. They’re past awkward first fucks – Oikawa knows his body, knows what he can take. So he takes, and he takes, and he watches Iwaizumi break beneath him.

 _“Tooru,”_ Iwaizumi grits, and rolls his hips up, thrust for thrust, “Tooru-“

Oikawa takes one of his hands and uses it for support. His body sweats, everything  _burns –_ but Iwaizumi’s body was made for fucking, and, news flash, so was Oikawa’s.

God, it feels good. The cock in his ass slips right where he needs it, and Oikawa doesn’t bother hiding that. His lip bleeds from biting it, before he says fuck it, and just whines. He rolls his hips in figure eights, bobs up and down, grinds hard and scratches harder.

"Haah, f-fuck-"

Iwaizumi’s throat bobs as he swallows – his chest rises in angry little scratch marks, that Oikawa makes sure to kiss later.

It’s fast and sloppy, but needed. Needed, definitely.

Sex with your best friend is fun. Great, because you know each other inside and out. Fantastic, because it’s okay to laugh.

So Oikawa laughs- giggles, when he feels like he might actually explode from the inside out. The coil in his gut is would so tight - his eyes fog over - his mouth bleeds half attempts at Iwaizumi's name.

A forgiving hand wraps around his dick, and Oikawa keens, eyes squeezing shut, clenching down on Iwaizumi so hard, that they come together.

They’re sweaty. Glowing. Laughing a little too, because  _fuck_ that was hot. Hot and slow, quick and boiling.

Slowly their shallow breathing evens. Slowly, Oikawa looks down and smiles, bending his back like the swell in a bowl, kissing Iwaizumi soft, and gentle.

They stay like that, connected, kissing until Iwaizumi grimaces at the mess on his stomach.

Oikawa licks it all up – grins while he does it – and single handedly starts a round two.

 

* * *

 

When they’re twenty-seven, Oikawa stops gauging time by age, and age by time.

He stops with the -  _when they’re seven, when they’re twenty –_  and starts saying  _today, today._

 _Today_ they accepted a job.

 _Today_ they moved to America.

 _Today_ they got a house.

It takes twenty-seven years, but Oikawa realizes it soon enough.

It’s pointless to look at every moment, every day, and think  _I’m twenty-three, I should get married. I’m thirty, I should have kids soon. I’m sixty, I should dress my age._

Who cares?  _Who cares?_

Oikawa realizes, through sweat and tears and trial and error, that experiencing life through time gauges and a countdown to death is fruitless.

Oikawa wakes up to pancakes. He goes to sleep with a one-eyed dog, and a body warmer than his own.

He gets knee surgery. Cries, because  _I’ll never play again, I’ll never, I’ll never-_

But his goddamn best friend is there, holding his cheeks, saying  _you’ll play. You’ll play. Better than you ever did._

And he does.

 

At twenty-three his story began.

At twenty-seven he stopped counting time.

But he was always in love, and Oikawa can’t tell you anything more than that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> check out my [tumblr](http://zanimez.tumblr.com/)


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